


I love you, but I may try and kill you.

by Lauren_is_a_moron



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betty and Jughead are trying to remember each other but also kill each other, Crimes & Criminals, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everything is a slowburn, F/M, Memory Loss, Slow Burn, Violence, archie and jug slow burn to friends, first fic in a while, really enjoyed writing this lol, varchie slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29779041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_is_a_moron/pseuds/Lauren_is_a_moron
Summary: “What’s your name?” she whispered, her voice quivering. “Look, whatever that thing on your face is, it’s bad news—”A scream ripped its way from her throat when two more bullets pumped out. This time they flew past her. Betty dove to the right and landed on her knees. With her down, the bulldog started to advance towards her. Without seeing his face, he was merciless. Deadly. Adrenaline filled her and Betty was shuffling backwards, her hands sliding on the floor. Every instinct was telling her to jump up and run. But she couldn’t run. Betty was frozen. Her limbs weren’t working.or: 20 year old Betty Cooper finds herself in a game of cat and mouse with strangers. One of which is a boy she vowed never to forget, the boy who whose heart she broke when they were 17. Now he's a mindless monster trying to kill her.
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Cheryl Blossom/Toni Topaz, in later chapters
Kudos: 5





	I love you, but I may try and kill you.

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't completely edited because i wrote it when i was sad lol. So expect mistakes. tho i hope you like it :) i also put this up last night spontaneously before realising it was 11pm and it was stupid 'O clock.

* * *

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It was the funny-looking dent between the professor’s eyebrows that had taken all of Betty’s attention. She couldn’t seem to stop staring at it. The more she did, her mind began to whir with more and more questions. How had it came to be? What had caused it? Did the professor care? She half wondered if Professor Liebe considered it a flaw.

After all, she considered the professor pretty. Not beautiful, sure. But pretty. She didn’t turn heads, but if someone was really looking at her, they might notice the way her nose scrunched up a little when she was clearly enjoying a lecture, or the very small gap between her top teeth. Perhaps, Betty thought, perhaps she looked in the mirror every morning and wished that the thing just fucked off. Maybe she liked it, or it was a birthmark or a reminder of a traumatic memory, or simpler time when she was a child. Either way it was a distraction, and Betty was happy for one. It wasn’t every day she was bored during class. But that day seemed to drag on and on, a relentless drawl which almost felt like her very world was moving in slow motion.

But then came the dent between Professor Liebe’s eyebrows, and the world was her oyster. Well, no, not really. Her imagination was her oyster. Or whatever. However the phrase goes. The class was nearly two hours long, and if Betty broke that down, it was four sets of half an hour. She had already gotten through the first two, doodling her way through every SpongeBob character she could think of. Now she was in the home stretch. In her notebook she had Patrick Star, Sandy, a crude looking SpongeBob and Squidward riding a unicycle. Stealing glances at the clock at the front of the hall, Betty willed it go faster. The professor’s voice had stopped sounding English to her a while ago. Now it was just white noise. Around her, Betty’s classmates were either asleep or teetering on the edge. Betty, however, refused to give in to slumber. Yes, her eyes felt heavy, and yes, all she wanted to do was lay her head in her arms and sink into dream world—but no. That would be letting go. That would be allowing herself to lose control of herself, and Betty Cooper was a fighter.

Sort of.

If “fighter” meant climbing to the top of her High school hierarchy and scoring a perfect GPA and getting into her dream school, then sure. Betty kind of missed fighting though. The determination to be the best of her class and town. At sixteen years old she had one dream: Yale. And nothing was going to get in her way. Well, something kind of _did_ get in her way, but it wasn’t something she regretted. It wasn’t something she would go back and change.

No, that one perfect night with town loner and writer-in-the-making Forsythe Pendleton Jones, or “Jughead” was definitely that _something_ Betty wouldn’t change for the world. If she concentrated hard, and it wasn’t exactly difficult since she was already floating in the back of her own mind, riding memories she wished she could revisit—Betty could almost sense his scent tingling in the back of her nose and mouth. Coffee and cigarettes mixed with the smell of sex.

His shampoo that was raspberry and some flower she couldn’t quite name. With the smells there was also touch. How his fingertips had touched her, and how fucking good it felt; his hands streaking through strands of her hair and his laugh. How great it had felt, his lips pressed into her chest and his little gasps. That one night the two of them had decided that life was too short. They were both seventeen years old and neither of them had been touched. Betty was the perfect girl next door and Jughead was the school outcast. They worked. In a weird fucked up way… they worked.

But it didn’t last. It was one night. She was uptight and obsessed with her place on the Riverdale High School hierarchy and had insisted it was a mistake.

And his face. The look on Jughead Jones’s face still haunted Betty, even four years later. The cock of his head and the sadness of his eyes; that curl in his lip when she mentioned Archie Andrews, who was of course up there with her on the so-called social scale. Archie and Jughead had been friends, along with her. The Three Musketeer’s they called themselves. High School, however, had torn them from each other. Even Jughead and Archie. Best friends since kindergarten.

Jughead had spilled the pain to her during pillow talk. How much the redhead had hurt him, abandoning their friendship for a spot on Varsity. Jughead didn’t know though. He didn’t know _why_ Archie decided to turn the other way. He didn’t know that the boy next door was struggling with his own insecurities and feelings that didn’t make sense.

Feelings towards Jughead that didn’t make sense. Because sure, Archie was in love with his girlfriend Veronica Lodge, but also perhaps he was also in love with his best friend. It wasn’t necessarily _bad_ to have those feelings, Archie had said through tears he tried to hide. But he needed time to figure it out. He needed time to step back and realise who he was.

That had been at the start of Junior year. Betty and Archie were neighbours, and yet they had not talked since. Well, that is if a “Congrats!” text on graduation day doesn’t count. Which it doesn’t. Betty deleted it along with his number.

In the end, High school was a mess, a tangle of hurt feelings and severed friendships that didn’t matter in the end. Kids grew into adults. Those relationships they thought would last forever – didn’t. Betty didn’t intentionally keep up with her old classmates, but according to a cryptic Instagram post a few years ago, Archie and Veronica had split up.

Figures.

As for Jughead (and yes, she checked), he was in the middle of a writing a novel. Which made sense, Jughead Jones was destined to become an author. Over the years, Betty had found herself messaging him and then deleting it and blocking the number. Sorry. That’s all she wanted to say, in many variations, either with emoji’s or without them. I’m sorry, Jug. I’m so sorry. Please talk to me. I’m in New York this weekend, why don’t we go for a coffee?

The texts started like that, but then they got personal. Why don’t we go to that bookshop you said you always wanted to go to? Why don’t we give it another shot? I was wrong, Jug. I was so, so wrong. Now we’re adults we could,, we could—

And then Betty deleted them. She deleted them before she could sent them, and then threw her phone on her bed and ordered enough Chinese food to feed half of her dorm. It always helped. Well, it was enough to distract her from the fact that even the messages that she _had_ sent were never read. Even if those texts were just vague and to the point.

Betty was confident that if a school reunion ever happened, she would rather dip her head in a deep fryer than attend.

“Miss Cooper, am I boring you?”

Shit. Betty jumped a little, straightening up in her chair. She was quick to hide the page of doodles, and blinked rapidly, struggling to find the professor in the blur of fog that had settled over her eyes. Weird. Betty was sure she had a good night sleep last night, and yet she was tired. Really tired. The type of tired that felt like her very bones were aching and complaining. Shuffling uncomfortably, she swallowed hard, glimpsing Professor Liebe standing in front of the PowerPoint projected on the wall. Suddenly, the lights in the lecture hall were far too bright, they were hurting her eyes. When she risked a look at them, colourful prisms pulsed in her fuzzy vision, treating her to her very own lightshow.

_Coffee_ , Betty thought. Though her mind was like maple syrup. _I need coffee and I need it now._

“Yes?” To her surprise, Betty’s voice was a croak. Not at all like it was normally. Though it didn’t feel like a _normal_ lesson. She was usually so awake and happy to answer questions, writing notes and doing her best to take in every ounce of information she was given. Now though, she was slacking. What the hell was she doing?

The doodles in the book suddenly felt childish and wrong, as well as the lapse into memories of old friendships and relationships. It didn’t feel right. Hell, it was almost as if there was something inside her breaking into her mind and leeching itself to each memory. Each heartbreak. Each friendship. Betty blinked again. God, it was so hard to stay awake, and she didn’t know why.

“Sorry.” She managed to choke out, hurrying for an excuse, “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

The professor hummed. Betty winced when the woman strode across the stage, the sound of her heels going _clickity click_ reverberating in her skull. Well that wasn’t normal. “I expect this from a freshman, Miss Cooper. Wake up.”

Nodding, Betty tried to smile. Tried to prove that she was in fact _very_ awake and was totally ready to concentrate. Except that wasn’t true. Her body felt strange, light, l

ike she was floating. Very slowly Betty cocked her head, and the lights above seemed to glow brighter. A dull throbbing began to inch its way around the back of her head. It started slow, like a normal headache. But then it was blossoming into stabbing, like someone was sticking a blade into the back of her skull. It hurt.

It hurt more than anything, any pain she had been through. It was worse than period pain, worse than the time she had broken her ankle at fifteen. Betty’s first instinct was to grab for her water bottle, but when she did, her arm didn’t move like it was supposed to. And when she tried to scream, her mouth didn’t work. The words were choked at the back of her throat. Her body was stiff in the chair, but the world around her began to spin, like she was riding a carousel. Again, Betty tried to scream, and her body was having none of it. Her body no longer felt like it was hers, like it was someone else’s, or rather, like that someone had wrapped invisible arms around her and squeezed until she couldn’t breathe—

And now they were pulling her, and she was falling. The lights in the lecture theatre were gone. The professor’s white noise drone was gone. Even the ground below her was fading away, making way for nothing. Betty was falling into nothing.

It was _nothing_ for several seconds. Though it could have been minutes or hours, days, weeks, years. Betty didn’t know. Time no longer existed when there was _nothing_. Though after the Nothing, there was Something. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but there was ground beneath her once more. Betty could feel her body once more; curled into the foetal position. There was no longer pain, at least the pain that had ignited her like a lightning strike—however, there was pain in her legs and arms, like she had fallen and impacted something. As her senses began to slowly trickle back, Betty became aware of something on her face. It was cold. Plastic. The smell triggered a memory; the time when she and Archie had dressed up as Scream and Scream’s Wife for Halloween. Betty remembered complaining to her mother that the mask smelled weird, and she didn’t like it. So, Alice Cooper had spritzed the mask in chocolate scented perfume.

That’s what it smelled like

A mask. The Scream mask that she had worn at eight years old.

Automatically, Betty’s hands went to grasp for the mask that was suffocating her face. The tips of her fingers grazed smooth plastic. She was right. It _was_ a mask. Except it felt wrong on her face. It felt like it wouldn’t come off. To test it, Betty blindly clawed at the edges of the mask and attempted to peel it off. But it was stubborn. It was stuck to her flesh like a living breathing thing. Like a parasite had taken over. Panicking, Betty forced herself to sit up and opened her eyes. Through the holes in the mask, there was only the pitch dark. As a kid, Betty had been terrified of the dark. Though now it wasn’t the dark she was scared of. It was the unknown. It was what exactly was in front of her.

_“Hey!”_

The word was in her throat, but her lips were sealed, and it didn’t take Betty long to realise that it was the mask that locking her lips. Again, she tried to pull at it, yank at it, but it wouldn’t come off. It was stuck. Glued to her skin, glued to her eyes and nose and mouth, and Betty couldn’t breathe. She let out a shriek, which was once again plucked from her lips. Whatever this force was, it was taking away her ability to speak. Getting to her feet, Betty willed herself to calm down.

She stumbled in the dark, struggling to keep her balance. The words _“What’s happening?!”_ were ready to catapult from her lips before something slammed into her, a force strong enough to bring her to her knees. Betty hit the floor with a hiss, her hands flying out to peel the mask from her face. But something else was happening.

Her body was growing weaker, that relentless force cracking her skull open. It wanted _her_ , she realised. It wanted all of her, everything she had been and everything she was becoming. It wanted her memories. It wanted Jughead and Archie, Veronica and Polly, and her friends, her mom—her achievements. Her life. And she felt each one being torn from her, leaving empty caverns behind. Betty’s hands slackened around her mask. Her arms fell to her sides. Her body straightened and stiffened while the force began to mould her into exactly what it wanted. Her screams were caught in her throat, and tears that welled in her eyes faded before they could touch her cheeks. But Betty refused to let go. She wouldn’t. No way would she let go of who she was.

Because, like everything else, it was trying to take her name from her. And _it_ was victorious for several seconds because who was she again? Her name… it was on the tip of her tongue, the edge of her thoughts. It was fading… fading….

Betty Cooper, she thought, willing the name into her mind.

Her name was Elizabeth Cooper.

_Betty._

_Betty._

_My name is Betty._

The mask had taken everything from her but her identity. And when it was done, when it was done draining her brain of what mattered, Betty found herself on her knees, gasping for precious breath. Her stomach slithered into her toes when her fingertips grazed over the slightest crack in the mask. It was on the mouth. Maybe an inch wide. Dipping her nails into the indention she was confident that as long as there was a crack, as long as whatever this was on her face was defective—she would remain herself. She would remain Elizabeth Cooper. 20 years old. Daughter of—

_Blank._

Her friends were….

_Blank._

The boy she wanted to apologise to.. the one whose heart she had broken was…

_Blank._

“Installation cancelled.”

The new voice sent Betty’s heart into a tailspin. Female and robotic. Like Siri.

“What’s going on?” she could speak again. Her voice was soft, a childlike whimper. She directed the question to the voice, her fingers still wrangling with the mask—which grew lighter. Less suffocating. With her heart in her throat, Betty grasped for the edges and yanked. She wasn’t expecting it to come off, but it did. In one swift pull, the mask was slipping from her fingers and hitting the ground with a quiet _thud_. Once the mask was off, Betty clawed at her own face, a broken sob escaping her lips. Without the mask, Betty was able to take in her surroundings. She was in a pitch black room. When she squinted, there were shapes in the dark. Swallowing hard, Betty pawed for a light switch, but her clammy hands only impacted thin air. There were no walls. At least not yet. She risked several steps back, stumbling, before her back finally slammed into something hard. A wall. Maybe a door. Working quickly, she grasped for a light, and – yes!

Her fingers clamped down on a switch and without hesitating, Betty clicked it on.

The room flooded with light, and when Betty had gotten used to the bright blow burning her eyes, she realised the room she was standing in was in fact her old homeroom classroom. Which didn’t make sense. Her heart started to pound. How could she be here? Her gaze snapped to the mask which was on the floor several foot away. The mask was pearly white with black straps, which must have been what was holding it to her face. It was the type that theatre kids wore to express emotion. Hers was a happy one. Betty strode over to the mask and picked it up before flinging it at the wall.

“Hello?!” she ran to the door and tried the handle. Unlocked. But outside, the hallway was dark.

Her fingers slipped into her pockets, feeling for the familiarity of her phone. No such luck. Looking down at herself, Betty thought she was hallucinating for a second. But no. Instead of her red sweater and overalls, the clothes she was sure she had worn to class – was her old Vixens uniform; the blue and gold ensemble that Betty still had in her dresser in her mom’s house. It fit her perfectly, even after four years. But it felt wrong to be dressed in her River Vixen uniform at 20 years old.

Betty smoothed the creased in her skirt. Someone was playing a game.

“Okay,” letting out a hiss of frustration, she yanked open the door and stepped out onto the hall. The lights flickered on, and she found herself blinking at the hallway where her locker was. Betty could still remember her code. 3501.

“Whoever is doing this, you’re not funny, okay?” her mind buzzed with questions; there was no logical answer for how Betty had seemingly teleported from Professor Liebe’s lecture to Riverdale High School.

Finding herself captivated by her locker, Betty started to inch towards it. She didn’t know why. Maybe part of her missed it. Maybe part of her wanted to look inside and see what occupied it now, a stranger, most likely. A brand new River Vixen.

Betty was in a daze, practically dancing towards her locker, her head in the clouds, when something zipped past her at the speed of light. It sliced through the air, barely missing her and then ricocheting off of the wall.

Something in her snapped. Twisting around, her brain went into over-drive.

A bullet.

She didn’t have to look far enough to see where it had come from. At the very end of the hallway there was a boy. Perhaps a man now. He was around her age; tall and lean with broad shoulders. He wore the Bulldogs Varsity jacket over a plain shirt and jeans. But it wasn’t the clothes that he was wearing which was took her breath away. The boy’s identity was hidden by a mask which was strapped to his face, dark red hair sprouting from the top. His mask’s expression was angry.

He almost looked like he was reaching out to her. Like he knew her. Like they knew each other. Instead though, there was no greeting. His demeanour was almost robotic, and in his right hand was a 9mm glock pointed directly between Betty’s eyes. Her first instinct was to surrender and drop to her knees. The guy had already shot once and missed. She had a feeling he wouldn’t miss again. Betty didn’t raise her arms in surrender, however. The guy was clearly a former bulldog, just like she was a former Vixen. “Hey.” She managed to choke out, “Hey, are you like me? Did you wake up here?”

To her disdain, he didn’t answer. But he did take a step towards her, his finger teasing the trigger.

“What’s your name?” she whispered, her voice quivering. “Look, whatever that thing on your face is, it’s bad news—”

A scream ripped its way from her throat when two more bullets pumped out. This time they flew past her. Betty dove to the right and landed on her knees. With her down, the bulldog started to advance towards her. Without seeing his face, he was merciless. Deadly. Adrenaline filled her and Betty was shuffling backwards, her hands sliding on the floor. Every instinct was telling her to jump up and run. But she couldn’t run. Betty was frozen. Her limbs weren’t working.

“Please!” she was crying, sobbing, tears trailing down her cheeks. “Please don’t do this! Look, my name is Betty Cooper—”

“Betty?”

She wasn’t expecting a voice behind the mask. Hoarse and dry. Choked. Almost like a cry.

The Bulldog dropped his arm holding the gun before staggering backwards with a hiss.

“Go.” He grunted. The gun slipped from his fingers and he clawed at his mask. “Shit. I can’t… I can’t control it!”

“What?!” Betty whimpered.

“GO!” The bulldog roared.

At that moment, a blur of blue and gold hit the Bulldog, and Betty realised it was another Vixen. Another mask wearer. The girl had raven hair cascading down her back. The mask hid her identity but Betty already knew she was beautiful. But the girl was fast. Impossibly fast, like an animal. She leapt onto the bulldog and the two of them hit the ground. Betty thought the girl was saving the Bulldog, protecting him. But then the masked Vixen pulled a knife from underneath her skirt.

None of them spoke. The Vixen straddling the bulldog. They fought. The Bulldog was as fast as her, avoiding the girl’s dodges with the knife. Betty was transfixed in their fight, before another figure sort of _stumbled_ into view. Another mask wearer. Angry expression. Like the others, the mask was strapped to face of the owner, a brunette. He wore casual clothes unlike the others and her, a Levi’s jacket wrapped around a shirt and scuffed up jeans. He wasn’t carrying a weapon.

She took her chance. Maybe he was different. Maybe he was like her.

“Hey!” Betty jumped to her feet, already dancing backwards in case he pulled a fast one. “Hey, can you hear me?”

The boy seemed to study her, and Betty took that time to take him fully in; dark brown curls poking from the mask. Smooth golden skin. He cocked his head slowly, like a child. Though without an expression, only the mask, he was terrifying.

When he started to stagger towards her, his fingers grazing over the mask’s mouth, Betty’s stomach slithered into her toes. The Bulldog let out a howl of pain, and she glimpsed a flash of deep, dark red coating the Vixen’s knife.

Blood.

Without thinking, and now her body was finally working in her favour, Betty turned and ran.

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**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave kudos and tell me what you think for more :D


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